A period of transition
I checked out a new pole studio earlier this week…in the U.S. Specifically, in New Jersey, where I grew up, and where I am now after not receiving sponsorship to stay in Australia.
I’ve been off the pole for a little over a month during the multi-move, multi-country, endless logistics transition from the southern to northern hemisphere but was really excited to get back into the studio and reacquaint myself with the physicality and sensuality of the sport. I also hoped it would introduce a semblance of normalcy back into my life — after all, I spent anywhere from 3-4 days/week, 2-4 hours a day at the studio during my last three months in Sydney (the Pole Class team is iconic) and built a loving community of friends from all walks of life.
One of the first things I did on my flight back to the U.S. was to look up pole studios in the area. Two were a reasonable distance away (it’s been an adjustment relying on driving v. public transit), and I picked one to start.
There’s something welcoming, even soothing, walking into a pole studio: the dim lights and pulsing music, the palpable energy buzzing off the dancers, the focused concentration on slinking around the pole. My own excitement moving around my body as I got ready to enter class.
And then — it kind of was just…ok.
I struggled: my body unsure and uncertain after a month off, the warmup barely existent, the pole too wide in my grip, my hand too slippery on the metal. I struggled to get up and I struggled to get off. The vibes felt off and the names of the moves were different than what I knew. Everything felt wrong.
I mean, I kind of knew this going in to class.
A month off means weaker muscles and less endurance (normal) and less trust in my body to support myself on the pole (natural). Layer on the nervousness about what’s next for me in my broader life, and that lack of faith in my mind about myself translates to lack of trust in my body on the pole.
The studio I trained at in Australia uses a 40/38 mm pole (Miss Pole Dance Australia, the national competition, also uses 40mm), whereas the US, and international standards, use a 45mm pole. At Pole Class, the 45mm pole was the singular “fatty” pole that no one liked to use. A smaller width pole is easier to grip with hands and knees; a wider pole requires more hand strength — so basically I need to retrain my grip for both hands and back of the knees.
Australia uses brass whereas the US tends to use stainless steel or chrome for their pole finish. Brass is very grippy, making it grip for hot and humid climates (hello Australia!), while stainless steel (used at the NJ studio) is less so and chrome (standard in the US) is the least. Again, another dimension to adjust to and train with.
The plus side of all these differences is that training on a pole that requires more hand strength (pole size) and stronger grip (pole material) means that I’ll smash it on any size/type pole, no matter where I go and when I go back to Australia! Yes these are all great, but the reality is that change is hard. I planned to build a life in Sydney and now I’m in the US, trying to figure out what’s next. Circumstances nixxed my original plan, and it feels like I’m putting everything on hold and am in a constant state of paralysis and overwhelm as I try to figure out what’s next.
What this time is is a transition, not a pause. Transitions are period of change, of adjusting to a different (not necessarily new) environment, adapting and adjusting to new (but not necessarily brand new) things. It’s uncomfortable at first — discouraging even. It takes a lot of grit and faith in yourself to keep moving forward, to not get frustrated at every misstep or backpedal (though quite understandable if so). But slowly over time the persistence, the determination, unconsciously forges your way to a point where one day, you look up and suddenly realize that you’re actually okay, thriving even.
I have to remind myself that I’ve encountered change before and gone through huge transitions. Change on a smaller level: traveling to new countries with new customs and cultures, embarking on new jobs with new companies, moving to new apartments in new neighborhoods; and transitions on a bigger level: moving to a country on the literal opposite side of the world; working a completely different career path outside of corporate; living with an unexpected, life-changing diagnosis. I’ve done it all before, and I can do it again — just one baby step at time.
The pole is slightly different with its 45mm and stainless steel finish, but it’s still a pole. It’ll be a transition of retraining, relearning, and most importantly, releasing ego, but even with all of that I am still a pole dancer.